


Everytime We Touch (I Feel The Static)

by tallgirl20



Category: Cinderella (1997), Cinderella (2015), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bad Parenting, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, because I need some fluff!, but obviously am unable to write it!, optimistic character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-12 01:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11727009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallgirl20/pseuds/tallgirl20
Summary: Cinderella may be a servant now, covered from head to toe in clothes. But she remembers a time when she was Eleanor, a beloved daughter, who dreamed of skin painted by the touch of her Best Match.Until that dream blooms into reality in the most glorious of ways.(or the one where skin contact with your soulmate leaves watercolors to blossom in its wake)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This should be under 10 chapters. I'm hoping to knock it out quickly. I was watching Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella with Brandy last night and fell in love again. It is one of my all time favorite takes on the story. This thought bloomed (heh) right afterwards. I thought it might be worth sharing. 
> 
> I'm not sure if the cinderella over reaching story has a single copyright, but if it does, I do not own it. 
> 
> Story title from the song Everytime We Touch by Cascada.

 

Prologue

 

Eleanor grew up knowing love. Every day, she watched her mother and father _touch._ Watching the swirling patterns dance across their bodies with every skin to skin contact mesmerized Eleanor.

_“It means we complement.” Her mother would whisper to her before bed. “We are each other’s Best Match.”_

Even though her mother and father were married, Eleanor rarely saw their skin fully covered. They delighted in the visible proof of compatibility. Always laughing and dancing and loving, they swept Eleanor up in their cloud of giddiness until she rarely knew anything else. She dreamed of the day her body would bloom with color upon a touch from her Perfect One. She woke up to the proof that such love existed.

 

 

* * *

Until the day it didn’t.

* * *

  


A fall from a horse, and her mother was gone. Eleanor’s world abruptly crashed to the ground. Her father was a broken man - cracked in half with the loss of his Match. Eleanor, who had never known pain, loss, _tragedy_ , was ill equipped to help her papa.

First, he covered himself from head to toe and coarse fabric, never wanting to see the pale skin that would never change color again. Then he did the same for her. He bought her new clothes. No more sleeveless dresses. No more shorts. Long pants, long dresses and long sleeves filled her wardrobe. Gloves too. So many layers that she felt she would suffocate under them. 

He banned Eleanor from going to town - even forbidding the servants from bringing Eleanor’s friends to the manor. When Eleanor cried in loneliness, he merely answered.

_“I must protect you from the horror of losing your Match.” He stared at her with haunted eyes. “You must stay safe here at the manor.”_

But having her around all the time brought up more problems. Eleanor didn’t understand the terrible looks her father would send her. Could never know how much of her mother her father saw in her.

So he started to travel more often, unable to spend time in the home once filled with such love and happiness. Unable to look at his daughter. Eleanor lost more and more of her father with every trip. Longer and longer and _longer_ did he stay away until it was a year before she saw him again.

 

 

* * *

Until he brought home a wife with two daughters.

* * *

 

_“I know you are lonely here, Eleanor.” He explained with manic eyes. “Now you have two sisters to spend time with. Aren’t you happy?”_

How could she tell her father that all she wanted was him to be home? How could she explain her craving for the hugs and kisses she could barely remember? How could tell him she didn’t want sisters that she just wanted to go town and play with other children? How could she ruin their first conversation in over a year with an argument?

She couldn’t. All she could say was, _yes_ , _yes, yes, Father, I’m happy._

 

 

* * *

Until appeased with her supposed happiness, he left again and never came back - having fallen from a horse into the ravine.

* * *

 

 

She didn’t hear the whispers, shielded as she was by the remaining loyal servants, that maybe it wasn’t an _fall_ so much as a _jump._  

In the wake of her father’s death, Eleanor’s her new life began not as the beloved daughter of two doting parents. Not as the tragic reminder of a love lost. Not even as a stepdaughter of her father’s second wife.

No, Eleanor’s new life began with cold eyes and mocking words and cinders painting her face in the darkness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will be able to start with pure fluff, but today is not that day.


	2. Without you it’s hard to survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or Eleanor gains a family

Chapter One - Without you it’s hard to survive

 

Eleanor grew to love housework in the wake of the her father’s ban on town and visitors.

Cooking wasn’t cooking. It was brewing potions. Cook needed cheering up, so Eleanor brewed the comfort potion - chicken soup! That mean old stable man deserved her fire potion for making the milk maid cry- special ingredient: extra hot peppers! She giggled for hours on end perfecting her skills all in the name of fun.

Cleaning wasn’t cleaning. It was exploring! Every time she cleaned a room there was a treasure hidden somewhere. Under the bed, on top of the dresser, once even inside a vase. She couldn’t wait for cleaning day to see what new trinkets she could add to her collection.

Washing wasn’t washing… well actually that one wasn’t fun, but it always came with sweets afterwards. So Eleanor guessed she could do it, _as long as she got those snacks (she especially like the caramels from town)!_

Most of the time, housework managed to distract her from the suffocating loneliness of being the only child at the manor. Chores weren’t, well, _chores_ . The were a source of fun and excitement and joy _._

 

 

* * *

Until they weren’t.

* * *

 

 

_“What are you doing?” Minerva sneers._

_“Cleaning!” Eleanor smiles. “Did you want to help?” She asks, holding out a dirty wash rag._

_“Why would I do something like_ that?” _Minerva looks appalled._

_Eleanor blinks in shock. “Because it’s fun?” Her voice wavering in the face of her new sister’s disdain._

_Minerva titters at Eleanor. “You must be joking. Calliope!” Eleanor jumps at Minerva’s yell._

_“What is it?!?” Calliope shouts back._

_“Our new_ sister _is cleaning the parlor!”_

_Calliope strolls into view, her eyebrows high in disbelief. She gives Eleanor a quick up and down. “If she’s so interested in cleaning, why are we hiring servants for? Eleanor should do it!”_

_A wicked grin ticks Minerva’s lips upwards. “What an excellent idea, Sister. Let’s go tell Mother.”_

_Eleanor is left flat footed, unsure how her honest attempt at bonding with her new sister leaves shivers running down her spine and knots twisting in her tummy. Eleanor has to believe her sisters are teasing, playing a trick on her. So she does._

 

 

* * *

Until Stepmother fired all the servants save the grouchy stable hand and that was only because Cinderella could barely be near a horse without shaking.

* * *

 

 

 

The only relief Eleanor had from the now endless tasks associated with keeping the aging manor and its fussy inhabitants in working order was when she went into town with her _family_.

The first time her stepmother told Eleanor they were going to town she froze in disbelief.

_“You mean, me too?”_

_“Of course, you stupid child. There is no one else in this room.”_

_High on excitement, Eleanor doesn’t hear much after “of course.” She can’t remember the last time she's gone to town. What will she buy? Will she remember any of the people she used to play with? Town has become a fantasy world as mysterious as it is unreachable. Eleanor rushes to her room and pulls on her town clothes. She doesn't even mind putting on all the layers. She’s going to town! Her_ _enthusiasm is_ _a living thing._

 _Eleanor will never forget those first steps into Main Square. Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover it. The sights, sounds, smells,_ people _. She stays right behind her new family so as to not get lost in the crowd but even so, her eyes can’t help wandering around trying to take in everything at once._

_Eleanor’s eyes catch on the flashy metal pieces and colorful fabrics at a shawl stand. “Stepmother, do you think we could go to that store next?” She asks._

_“Girls?” The older woman questions with a glance towards her own daughters._

_Cheshire grins reveal gleaming teeth. “Yes, mother!”_

_“What a wonderful suggestion, Eleanor. We will go shopping there next.”_

_Thrilled, Eleanor smiles up at her new stepmother. She just knows this trip was going to be fantastic. And so the trip continues. Beautiful clothes, mouth watering candies, metal jewelry, hats! Package after package is dropped into her hands, but Eleanor doesn’t mind. Some of those packages hold her own choice pieces. It is a day of laughs and smiles and spoils of war._

 

* * *

_Until they return home and Stepmother takes every package from Eleanor’s arms and gives none of them back._

* * *

 

 

Trips to town took on a whole new meaning. Eleanor became their mule burdened with purchases not hers to enjoy. It was cruel, so cruel, forcing her to watch them gorge themselves on fancy outfits and candy and _everything_. It could have been a nightmare. And for some time it...

_“Keep up, Eleanor! We are headed to the candy store.”_

_“Coming, Stepmother.” Be brave, Eleanor! “Um, do you think I could have a caramel? Just one! Cook sometimes gave me one after we did washing.”_

_With a severe frown, her stepmother gives Eleanor a quick up and down. “Well. It certainly shows. I think we will skip giving you sweets entirely. Your figure will thank you.” She finishes with a quick nod. “Now come along!”_

_Humiliated and embarrassed (Stepmother hadn’t been whispering), Eleanor hides her face behind the hat box in her hand throughout the rest of the trip._

...was. Despite it all, Eleanor was made of sterner stuff. She had taught herself to enjoy chores to fend off the aching loneliness of an empty house.  She put up with the before, during and after as best she could because Eleanor was determined to keep going back. Every trip was another chance to see and speak and interact with real people (her family and that grouchy stable guy definitely didn’t count) _._

 _Including, hopefully, one day, her Best Match_. 

 

  
And for that chance, Eleanor found she could deal with anything her _family_ could throw at her.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized over this far more than I should have. Tenses should fluctuate between 'flashback' scenes and the general story narrative.


	3. Forgive me my weakness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or Eleanor wishes for color.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, there really is no not depressing reason why this chapter/story has not been updated in so long...
> 
> So UPDATE! *throwing confetti*
> 
> also, I promise there is a happy ending. eventually

Chapter 2 - Forgive me my weakness

 

Since her mother’s death, Eleanor found herself covered in Formal Mourning Attire. Her father had insisted Mother deserved to be remembered, and of course Eleanor agreed. How could she not? Long sleeve dresses - made of the finest cotton and later exotic silks all black as night- filled her wardrobe for long after the wispy remains of her mother’s laugh faded completely from Eleanor’s memory.

As the period of mourning extended, Eleanor wished more and more keenly that she could wear color again. She heard the maids talking. She knew that at nearly two years, her mourning attire could be retired. She would give nearly anything to wear something of color, something like the clothes in the painting covering the walls of the house.

Sometimes, she would wrap one of the fancy curtains around her body and pretend it was a dress. Other times she would crawl under her bed sheets and cry at how horrible she was - to want more when she already had such lovely clothes.

Lace, frills, empire waists, full skirts. Her father made sure she had every kind of dress imaginable and that were replaced as soon as a single thread began to fray. Of course the new pieces stayed true to theme - skirts that brushed floor with sleeves that nearly covered her hands.

And then there were the gloves. Father made sure she was required to wear them everywhere. Eleanor forgot one day, just one day, to put them on before she left her room. She never forgot again. The anger her father unleashed terrified her young mind.

He left for his first month long trip not even a week after his outburst. When he came back, he brought her gloves just as elaborate as her dresses.

And so Eleanor’s life of black continued with fancy trappings and strict demands for five long years.

* * *

 

Until she found a forgotten chest while searching for treasures (during one of her cleaning expeditions) in a little used guest room.

* * *

 

Little dresses in gorgeous colors that reminded her of the flowers outside. She sneaked them to her playroom hiding them anywhere she could. Later, she would try the clothing on her dolls. Imagining what it would be like when she was tiny enough to wear such bright colors. _Fun_ , Eleanor decided as she stoked a sunshine yellow shift. _Life would definitely have been fun_.

She acted out all her dreams with her dolls. Going to town. Playing with friends. Meeting her Match. Dancing at parties.  Her dolls were her avatars and for a while Eleanor bore her own dark clothing a little easier knowing her vibrant dolls were waiting for her to play.

* * *

 

Until Father came home, took one look at her dolls and snatched them all away for good.  

* * *

 

As if to make up for taking all the clothes, he had the house decorated in all manners of materials and patterns right before he left on his first year long trip. It became a trend, especially as his trips stretched longer and longer and longer to allow her to decorate the house.

Still smarting from the loss of the beautiful clothes, Eleanor borrowed a scrap of material from the old drapes and wrapped it around her favorite doll one with eyes just as blue as hers and hair like corn silk to match Eleanor's own.

She made doubly sure she only brought the scrap out at night where no one would see it. Hiding it in her fancy dress during the day since she never never needed it.

* * *

 

Until a maid found it while setting clothes out for her father’s unexpected arrival 6 months after he left.

* * *

 

Eleanor had despaired, believing this too would be taken, but the maid only smiled and put the fabric under the bed skirt.

“Our secret.” She whispered.

Eyes wet and mouth trembling, Eleanor managed a smile as she gained an ally in fun.

The maid taught her to sew in the few minutes a day they had together, provided string and needles and scraps of fabric to practice in ever growing colors and textures. Eleanor’s confidence and joy inched higher as her little rebellion grew fruit as her doll clothes stacked ever taller.

At night Eleanor dreamed of making larger dresses ones that would fit her own body. Dreams she knew were in vain. The scraps were hardly large enough to make clothing for her dolls let alone for her. Though life shifted a little, Eleanor’s childhood remained nearly as drab.

* * *

 

Until the arrival of her stepmother and new sisters when color re-entered her life.

* * *

          


	4. Can't you feel my heart beat fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or Eleanor begins to scheme.

4 - Can’t you feel my heart beat fast

It didn’t start that way of course, her father’s death necessitated a completely new Mourning Period. Though truthfully Eleanor felt that the only thing changed were the three new faces wearing black with her.

* * *

Until when six months had passed, Stepmother walked into breakfast wearing a beautiful dusky rose day dress that went to her knees.

* * *

Eleanor was so startled she dropped the tray of fresh croissants.

“Eleanor! What a horrible waste of food. Now they will only be good for the animals.” Stepmother chastised, her nose scrunched up in distaste.

“You’re not wearing black,” was all Eleanor could respond. As her stepsisters strolled in behind their mother, Eleanor gaped. “None of your are!”

“Your so dumb, Eleanor.” “Not everyone wears black.” They both sneered.

“I- I don’t understand. Why are you wearing color?” Eleanor pushed even as she bent down to pick up the dropped food (habit was habit and Eleanor was well trained to follow her stepmother’s orders by now).

“Of course not. Six months is a very respectful Mourning Period. Life moves on for some of us, Eleanor.” Stepmother responded as she smoothed down the front of her gorgeous dress. Eleanor closed her mouth with a sharp click when Stepmother’s distaste morphed into disgust. “And get back to work!”

Eleanor did as she was told, but in the back of her mind an idea was growing…

* * *

Until the day Eleanor voiced a well rehearsed thought.

* * *

“Stepmother,” Eleanor began after a trip to the market in which the gossip had been particularly pointed, “it might be time I wear color as well. There were several dresses marked for charity that might fit me.”

Still rattled from being asked when Eleanor would be allowed to also move on from her father’s tragic death after a full year of Mourning (Eleanor owed the shawl seller a very large hug), Stepmother did not automatically say no. “Your too thin. We would have to buy you clothes,” she said instead.

“I know how to sew.” Eleanor rushed to explain. “It would be no trouble to you at all.” Trying her hardest to keep her heart from beating through her chest, she held her breath.

Stepmother eyed her for a long moment. “I will inspect all clothing before you wear them in public. I won’t have you disgracing us.”

Eleanor couldn’t contain her joy even if she wished it. A beaming smile broke across her face as she turned to leave the room. “Yes, Stepmother.” She could barely believe how well her first scheme had gone.

* * *

Until Stepmother continued, unwilling to let Eleanor walk away with a clear victory.

* * *

“And we will get you nude colored gloves when we go to town next.”

Eleanor’s shoulders slumped (mainly for show). Even with the knowledge that she would still have to wear gloves, Eleanor spent the rest of the day on cloud nine.

That night she spent the first of many nights down by the kitchen sewing by firelight.

The next morning Stepmother’s lips were pressed into a thin line as her stepsisters teased her about her sooty face.

In the aftermath of Eleanor’s first victory, a new nickname was born.

Cinderella could care less. Her face might be smudged but her perfectly fitted blue dress matched her eyes exactly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love that last line so much. It has been in my mind almost from the beginning.


	5. I get this feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or Eleanor meets Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go peeps!

5 - I get this feeling

 

Life improves.

 

Eleanor remembers when fun was completing chores. Now, fun is sewing new dresses to wear to town, showing off her skills to people who (sneakily) give her friendly smiles.

 

She remembers when all there was to occupy her mind was her father’s trading books. Now her mind is busy memorizing every person she meets. These people are new and wonderful and Eleanor wants them to like her…. and she is desperate to narrow down who might not have been Matched yet.

 

So life continues the same, yet somehow better as Eleanor cleans and mends and cooks and - _the baker’s daughter marries the cobbler who is the oldest son of his mother who’s sister finally found her match and left for the port town with her husband who brought his brothers to the wedding in which his youngest brother met his Match in the shawl seller’s only daughter…._

 

It’s still not the life Eleanor dreams of, but it is an improvement.

 

* * *

Until she is nearly run over by a horse.

* * *

 

 

Eleanor is too busy juggling boxes (and hopelessly trying not to drop the unwieldy hat one) to notice the carriage charging her way.

 

In fact, it’s only until someone is yanking her to the ground with a hasty, “Watch out!” that she realizes exactly how close she came to being trampled. Eyes wide, Eleanor’s hand goes to her over-beating heart.

 

“Are you okay?” Her rescuer questions as she tries to regain her bearings.

 

“I think so.” She responds as she takes a deep breath and gives herself a quick pat down. Everything appears to still be attached.

 

“I’m glad,” he says with a sigh before his voice turns exasperated. “Just like those royals. Always in a hurry.”

 

Eleanor hadn’t even noticed the carriage let alone the purple markings, still - “I’m sure they were going somewhere important.” She proclaims as she finally looks up at her hero.

 

He’s beautiful.

 

Skin the color of polished bronze with curly chocolate hair just brushing the collar of his tunic. His eyes, darker the a moonless night sky, are set into a face dotted with freckles. Her breath catches as his full lips twist into a wry smile. “I doubt it.”

 

_Oh!_

 

His eyes pull away from the road to focus on her, and Eleanor flushes as his full attention becomes hers. Hyper aware, she catches the slight hitch of his breath when he takes her in. Somehow she doesn’t think she looks her best.

 

“I-I’m Chris.” He stutters a little. Scrambling up from the ground, he offers her his hand. “Let me help you.”

 

Eleanor takes his hand and is just about to give out her name when “CINDERELLA!” rings through the crowd. _Stepmother!_ Eleanor thinks, then - _The packages!_ She blanches as her head whips behind her to take in the trampled purchases.

 

“Oh no!” She rushes over to try and salvage the boxes as her rescuer (Chris, _what a lovely name_ ) joins her.

 

“Let me help,” his hand is reaching for the troublesome hat box moments before hers. Her heart skips a beat when her cloth covered hand meets his skin.

 

“Thanks.” She manages to respond as she hustles to gather the remaining boxes. “I really must be going.” Eleanor explains as she takes the hat box from his hand and her stepmother’s voice shrieks even louder.

 

“Wait,” Chris touches her arm causing her eyes to slant away from the crowds, to focus on his gorgeous face (and promptly blush again). “Tell me you name,” he cajoles. “Please.” _His voice. Oh, his voice!_ Having his full focus directed at her is shockingly intimidating.

 

“Cind-cinderella.” She manages to get out before she wants to smack herself. “I mean-”

 

His grin is boyish and breathtaking and all hers. “Cinderella. I like it.”

 

Embarrassed, Eleanor gives her own grin. “It grows on you, I suppose.”

 

The world falls away, becomes fizzy, fuzzy, floaty.

 

* * *

Until Stepmother’s yell brings Eleanor back to ground.

* * *

 

 

Firm fingers yanks on her arm, and a shove pushes Eleanor back towards the house. She barely gets a chance to wave goodbye to Chris before they are swallowed by the crowd.

 

“What are you doing you stupid girl? Why are the boxes so destroyed? How dare you drop them. You foolish child too busy staring at men out of your league to even hold packages! Next trip you might just be left at home if this is how you treat your sisters purchases. I never took you to me such a vapid…”

 

Leftover adrenaline has Eleanor’s heart pounding in her ears leaving little room for Stepmother’s scolding. She goes through the motions of homecoming from the market in a daze. Walking to the house, putting away the packages, taking her sister’s travelling bags, getting tea ready, taking off her gloves...

 

* * *

Until she finds a tear, and the world tilts.

* * *

 

 

It’s a long one in the seam, but it’s not the tear that keeps her riveted. It’s the deep rose red peeking through the frayed dirty seams. _It must have happened when I fell._ She thinks in a daze. Eleanor’s fingers tremble as she slowly pulls the glove off. _Don’t get your hopes up, Eleanor!_ Maybe she is seeing the beginnings of a bruise? She did hit the ground hard. _But…_

 

The glove comes off. Her arm is covered in yellows and red and blues of all shades and hues. Her heart is in her throat as she takes in the sunrise on her skin.

 

She has found her match.

 

Joy and happiness and fear and relief and anxiety and pure unstoppable hope.

 

She’s found her match.

 

His name is Chris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom. *drops mic*
> 
> *giggles like a little girl*


End file.
